


Distracted

by iconoclastic04



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is distracting, Fluff, M/M, some making out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iconoclastic04/pseuds/iconoclastic04
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not like Cecil ever really means to lose his keys, or forget to feed Koshekh, or stay at the station until one working. He just gets distracted. Especially by Carlos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distracted

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short piece I wrote up featuring my Night Vale's very own community radio host and his favorite scientist.

It’s not like Cecil ever really means to lose his keys, or forget to feed Koshekh, or stay at the station until one working. He just gets distracted. Really distracted, really easily. There are just so many wonderful things to do and look at and smell and taste and feel. There are buzzing, floating lights and the latest intern’s funeral arrangements and dog parks not to be thought of and Carlos.

Especially Carlos.

Perfect, beautiful Carlos. He’s so soft, all of him—his lips and his arms and his hair. Cecil could spend hours just holding him, running his fingers through that luxurious hair, touching those soft, smooth arms, so different from his own scarred, tattooed body. Carlos is perfect, that’s all: simply perfect.

So when Carlos comes over after work, Cecil pounces on him, winding his arms around his waist and kissing him, tasting his soft and slightly salty lips. He can taste the cup of coffee Carlos downed before coming over, French vanilla with two sugars and a double shot of espresso, a mix that for some reason seems to fit the scientist perfectly. Carlos returns the kiss, the motion of his lips intoxicating, but pulls back after a minute. He grins at his boyfriend and smooths down the front of his shirt. “You’re making dinner?” he asks.

Cecil nods excitedly, taking Carlos’s hand and leading him into the kitchen. “Nothing fancy,” he says, gesturing to the simmering pot on the stove. “Just spaghetti—gluten-free, of course. I wouldn’t dream of unleashing wheat or wheat by-products on _anyone_ in Night Vale—except that rotten Steve Carlsberg. He is such a jerk!” Cecil marches over to the stove and gives the pot an angry stir. “You know, just the other day I saw him—”

Carlos moves behind him and kisses the back of his neck. “You’re adorable when you’re mad.”

A delicate violet tinge spreads across Cecil’s cheeks. “Oh, I—uh, I mean—d’you really think so?” he stammers. Carlos laughs, his breath warm against Cecil’s skin.

“Absolutely,” he says. Cecil can hear the smile in his voice. “Thanks for inviting me over; I’m looking forward to the evening.”

“Are you looking forward to anything in particular?” Cecil asks slyly, regaining his composure. Carlos doesn’t get a chance to answer before he turns around and leans forward and kisses him.

Carlos slides his tongue into Cecil’s mouth, eliciting a moan. Cecil’s lanky arms move up and wrap around Carlos’s neck in response. He threads his fingers through Carlos’s hair and pulls.

Carlos whimpers, and suddenly his hands are scrabbling against his chest, needy and impatient. They undo his tie and send it falling to the floor, then begin unbuttoning his shirt, his fingers sliding against the hot skin of Cecil’s chest.

When Cecil’s shirt is entirely unbuttoned, Carlos’s fingers begin exploring. They ghost over his skin, lightly feeling his belly button, then shooting up and thumbing over his nipples. Cecil gasps a bit, his cheeks turning violet. He leans forward and licks a strip along Carlos’s neck before biting down. Carlos moans, and every muscle in his body tightens. His fingernails dig into Cecil’s chest.

“Oh, Carlos, you’re so perfect,” Cecil whispers.

Carlos doesn’t respond immediately. Instead he pulls back and looks at Cecil, a strange expression contorting his face. Cecil wonders if he said something wrong, something to upset his perfect, lovely, beautiful scientist—

“Do you smell something burning?” Carlos asks.

“ _Shit!_ ” Cecil yells, shoving himself away from Carlos and towards the stove, where the pot of spaghetti is belching clouds of dark, greenish smoke. He switches the burner off and whisks the pot off the stove, grabbing the spoon out of the boiling water and attempting to stir it. The noodles had affixed to the inside of the pan and are eyeing Cecil evilly, muttering about irresponsibility.

“Sorry, sorry…” Cecil says, although the noodles don’t appear to accept his apology. Carlos chuckles, and Cecil turns. The scientist’s shirt is rumpled, the top button undone, his cheeks flushed, hair messy, a bite mark appearing on his neck.

Really, you can’t blame Cecil for getting distracted.


End file.
